


august slipped away like a bottle of wine / cause you were never mine

by ccbaxter



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: Angst, Oneshot, but who can resist the challenge of PWB's insane writing, i know loads of fics have already been done on this, in the name of utter writing perfection that is fleabag, quick one against the wall, so here goes nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25930945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccbaxter/pseuds/ccbaxter
Summary: A few months after season 2. Fleabag enters a church (NOT his) on a whim and chances upon the Priest. She'sallover him, she is, honestly, but it just so happens that she's ovulating right now and really needs to keep her hormones in check.Or, in other words, Fleabag went to church hoping to get a quick morning prayer in before work, and ended up getting a very different quick... something else instead.(fic title from august - taylor swift)___________________________________"Is this," she gestured at the pulpit with her shoe, "so that you're standing closer to God?" she asked him, pointing up at the heavens.God was a touchy subject (considering their last conversation) but she figured she had to make do.He smiled. "No," he said, half-rolling his eyes sarcastically, "I do it so I look taller and hence can tower over people like you."It was true. He was towering over her. And no, she was NOT turned on.______________________________________
Relationships: Claire & Fleabag (Fleabag), Claire/Klare (Fleabag), Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 87





	august slipped away like a bottle of wine / cause you were never mine

Fleabag came up to the pulpit where the Priest was still standing after his sermon. He'd seen her, a gleam of recognition his first move; she might as well make the second.

She stood waiting for him to finish his small talk, shuffling her feet awkwardly. Sometimes she didn't feel like a woman. Or a man. She mostly feels like a teenager, constantly wearing ankle pants because long pants morphed into them the moment she pulled them on, with a bad posture that her late mother had long ceased (in more ways than one) to yell at her for.

She wondered if he was buying time by extending the small talk. It could only mean two things– that either, he wanted to see her so much he was buying time to calm himself down; or, that he didn't want to see her. If he took any longer she might toss a coin. As the remaining churchgoers finally said their farewells, she walked up to where he was standing on an elevated platform and nudged it with her shoe.

"Is this," she gestured at the pulpit with her loafer, "so that you're standing closer to God?" she asked him, pointing up at the heavens.

God was a touchy subject (considering their last conversation) but she figured she had to make do.

He smiled (opening up the heavens as he did so!). "No," he said, half-rolling his eyes, "I do it so I look taller and hence can tower over people like you."

It _was_ true. He was towering over her. And no, she was NOT turned on.

He stepped down from the platform, always too nice though it ruined him. _How have other people not jumped his bones,_ Fleabag wondered.

"Want to go for a drink?" he asked her. "G&T's for old times' sake?" God she missed his Irish lilt.

"Sure. As long as you're completely naked except for your collar." Fleabag countered.

He raised his eyebrows.

"Joking!" she said. Of course she was. She was going to be a good girl. Oh yes. Only jokes, and nothing else.

They went back to one of her cafes; yes, you heard right, _one_ of them. It was half past nine and it was opening at ten, so they still had a bit of time before she started work.

"Wow, this is nice!" he said admiringly as he stepped inside. "I mean, not to say that it wasn't nice _before_ , but this is- you've done really well." He was genuinely happy for her, one of the rare people in her life that were. And also god she missed his awkwardness too.

"Yeah," she said, trying to hide a proud smile as they cracked open their drinks from M&S. "Got two branches now. And staff. I'm learning how to order people around."

He took a swig. Fleabag hadn't done morning drinks in a while. But hell, if a Catholic Priest was doing it, it should be alright.

"I love it," he said. "I honestly wasn't expecting you to be so business savvy though," he said jokingly.

"I sold my soul to the corporate devil," she leaned in whispered theatrically.

He laughed. "Fuck. Was that metaphor just for me?"

"I try," she said, with a smile.

A comfortable silence ensued. "So, how are you?" he asked, turning his can around and around in his (gorgeous) hand and not daring to look up at her as he asked the question.

She decided to go with the truth, because, well, fuck it, she could never hide from him. "Well, it's life," she said. "Without you in it," she added. "But it's life."

"Arghhh," he rubbed his hands over his face. "Maybe I shouldn't have come after all."

"You did invite yourself," Fleabag supplemented helpfully.

"Yeah, I– sorry. Anyway _why_ were you at my chur–"

"Not your church."

"Right yes. I was visiting. But why were you at church?"

Only he could ask her anything he wanted.

She shrugged. "Wanted to slip in a quick morning prayer before work."

He would never believe her in a million years. He snorted. (Honestly if even _he_ didn't believe in her redemption then who will? Disappointing.)

He got up abruptly, distracted. "I just– need the toilet...,"

Fleabag gestured him in towards to back of the cafe and followed him down the narrow corridor. What was she doing what was she doing oh what was she doing–

He turned around and pinned her to the wall, kissing her fiercely, his mouth almost smothering hers. She kissed him back, tongue sweeping into his mouth. She moaned into him and he called her name in an undertone, roughly, which sounded _so good_. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and his hands were firmly wrapped around her waist, pulling her towards him.

It had to be a quick one, as the cafe was opening in less than twenty minutes. They scrabbled with each other's clothes for a while, panting, till Fleabag managed to pull down the zipper of his trousers. She was ready for him; had been the moment she'd seen him towering over her across the pews. He entered her slowly, both of them relishing that feeling of him inside of her, before she couldn't take it anymore and he had to move, quicker and quicker. His one hand was steadying himself on the wall, while the other hand was running up and down Fleabag's bare back, under her shirt. They were nearly there, nearly there, before–

 _Crash._ They froze. Their movement against the wall had made the cash register on the counter fall and they could hear the clinks of coins bouncing and spinning out onto the floor behind them.

They both let out a groan of disappointment, foreheads touching one another.

"I've just, um, got to sort that out–," Fleabag whispered to him.

He carefully extricated himself from her while she went over to pick up the coins and the cash register.

"That was your devil calling you," he called out, as he got himself dressed again. She smiled. They both remembered the falling painting in his church. Guess the celestial poles did agree on one thing– them. Fuck. 

After she was done tidying up, she came back over to the Priest, hopefully. "So. Shall we pick things up where we left off?"

But they both knew the moment had come and gone. She could see the guilt cloud over him again as he shook his head with a sad smile as he went to the toilet.

Well, she mused, drawing circles with her empty can on the wooden table. She didn't get a quick prayer but she _did_ get a quick something else before work. That was a bonus. A mid-morning snack. A– 

There was a flush and the sound of a tap running before the Priest came out again.

"So, errr, I kind of have to go now," he ventured with a sheepish expression on his face. "That wasn't, that wasn't–," Fleabag was never in his plans but yet she always managed to turn them upside down, every time.

"Fuck you." Fleabag gave him a small sad smile.

"I try not to."

"Oh fuck you for that," she said, with feeling this time. She threw a stale bun at him, which landed on his shoulder and fell to the ground.

He laughed. Then he turned serious as he looked at her intently with a pained expression on his face. "You know I love you."

He opened the door of the cafe to leave. She saw him out and stood by the door.

"Well, stop it then." _As it hurts too much that way._

He knew what she left unsaid, as he always did.

"I'll try."

"I'm banning you from my cafe."

"I'm banning you from all the churches in England."

"You can't do that, you arsehole. Plus then I'll never get my redemption," she called after him and he walked away, slowly, backwards.

"You don't need any redemption. You're perfect the way you are. Stay. Stay the way you are."

She bit her lower lip. "I love you," she finally called out.

"I know," he said, hand on his heart, as he finally turned his back to leave.

Fleabag picked up the bun from the floor and sniffed at it, wondering whether to give it to the guinea pig. She shrugged and bit into it instead.

Fleabag lit a fag, giving herself a moment to wind down, not feeling the need to chase the high that she and him had left behind any more. She looked down the street. She could already see Stacey walking down the far end of the street to come into work.

Lately, she'd often thought of something that (out of all people) Claire had said. Or was it Klare. Shit. (Anyway that, if anything, was a sign of how compatible they were)

 _Just love. Don't ruin yourself on it_.

She stamped out her cigarette and headed back into the cafe, the bell on the glass door giving a tiny jingle as she did so. Time for work.


End file.
